Clown Cards and Catastrophes
by SisiDraig
Summary: It's Sam's tenth birthday and John can't understand why his son is being such a brat, when all he did was buy him a present and a very popular kid's birthday card. (Oneshot of the family Winchester, and Dean looking after everyone.)


'You need to talk to your brother.'

Oh great! It was going to be one of _those _evenings. Dean had thought that perhaps Sam and his dad could put their bickering aside for just a day. It was Sam's birthday after all.

'What's happened?' Dean asked, placing his own gift for Sam on the side next to the broken television.

'He's an ungrateful little….' John was too furious to find a noun. 'He didn't even say thank you for the presents I got him, just locks himself in the bathroom like a _spoilt little kid._' He raised his voice on the last few words, just to be sure the brat in the bathroom could hear.

'The presents you….' Dean trailed off as he noticed the problem staring back at him from the coffee table. Suddenly, seeing that red-wigged, pale-faced grin staring up at him from a child's birthday card, Sam's uncharacteristic level of ungratefulness made sense. 'This is the card you got him?' Dean asked, picking up the card with a clown grinning and wishing the recipient a "Happy Birthday".

'Clerk said it was the best seller,' John confirmed. 'A kid's favourite, 99% approval rate with focus groups.'

'That's great, Dad,' Dean sighed, throwing the card, creepy face down, into the trash.

'What are you doing?'

'99 kids out of a hundred love that card,' Dean sighed, 'and you give it to the one kid who hates clowns.'

'Clowns?' John was rightly shocked. 'The kid hunts monsters, and he's scared of….'

'Everyone's got one irrational fear, Dad.'

'Hmm,' John humphed slumping onto the uncomfortable motel sofa. 'Clowns, huh?' Dean just nodded as he thumped on the bathroom door with the base of his fist, and yelled:

'Come on, Sammy. Get out here or you don't get your gift.'

'I don't want it!'

'Ah, don't be such a princess. Come on!'

'I had no idea,' John muttered suddenly.

'You okay, dad?' Dean asked, wondering if maybe he was focusing his "cheer-up tactics" on the wrong Winchester.

'I was wandering around and around that supermarket and I had no idea what to get him.'

'Why didn't you just get him a new hunting knife? He needs one.'

'Bobby.' John replied, though Dean wasn't sure if John was talking to him, or talking aloud. 'Bobby told me I didn't let you boys be … well, boys enough. He said to get Sammy something a kid would want.'

'Bobby said that?' Dean questioned. Was this the same Bobby who'd given him ammo every year since he'd been old enough to grip a gun? The same Bobby who signed every birthday card: "You can never have enough ammo. Bobby."

'I called him. I was about ready to give up and come back, but he said: "Get the kid a ball and mit", like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Should have been, I guess. And then I went and ruined it with the card. The only bit that I got myself … I screwed it up.'

'It's okay, dad,' Dean soothed, sitting on the table opposite his father. 'Sammy's a forgiving kid. He's probably just still recovering from the fright.' He nodded to the binned card. 'He'll be okay.'

'I should know that kind of thing though, Dean. I should know that. I'm a terrible father.'

'Hey,' Dean scolded. 'Hey. You listen.' He waited for John to glance up at him, a sure sign that he was paying attention. 'There's this girl, Mandy, she's at school here; real popular, white picket fence house, stay at home Apple Pie mom, high-flying family guy, dad. You know the whole nine. Anyway. It was her birthday Thursday. She's part of the cheer team or whatever, so those girls put on a freaking insane display in cafeteria. There are legs flying everywhere, and everyone's singing happy birthday; it's this huge event, right?'

John nodded, clearly confused as to why Dean had decided to share this piece of seemingly pointless information.

'So anyway, cut to Friday morning. Me and Sam get to school super early, because he's got … I don't know … freaking nerd-club before class. And I'm killing time out on the field when I spot Mandy, and she's a mess. Make up all smudged, hair not done, and she's crying so hard I think she's gonna dehydrate herself.

'So … I ask her what's wrong. And she tells me that her parents forgot it was her birthday. They had some charity event in Vancouver, hopped on a plane and left her with nothing but a note reading: "Lasagne in the fridge".

'You went out hunting _ghouls_, dad, and you _still _made it back for Sammy's birthday. You still bought him a gift, and now you're even worrying about whether it was good enough. You know, our family might not be perfect but at least we're here for the important stuff.' He sighed, glancing at the bathroom door as it opened just a crack. Sam was listening.

'I bet even Sammy would take a clown card over no card at all.'

As if on cue, Sam appeared in the room, eyes firmly fixed on the dirty, cigarette-burned carpet.

'I'm sorry, dad.'

'No, I'm sorry, Sammy,' John insisted pushing himself quickly to his feet. 'No more clowns, I promise.'

Sam raced across the room, and flung his arms around their dad's waste. He hugged him back just as tightly. Dean felt a small twinge of jealousy. He hadn't received a hug from his dad for years, but Dean was a man. Men didn't need hugs from their dad.

'Hey, you want your present?' Dean asked, when the moment was over, and both Winchesters were looking to move beyond the misunderstanding. Sam nodded enthusiastically. 'Over here,' he grinned, stepping over to the box he'd brought in with him. 'Let me open it, there's a knack to the box.'

He lifted the top, to reveal an enormous chocolate cake (way too big for three), with intricate chocolate swirls decorating the sides and edges and white chocolate letters twirling and dancing across the top reading: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM"

It was almost perfect … almost.

'What happened there?' Sam asked, pointing to a smudge next to the "m" in Sam. It could only have been left by someone swiping their finger across the top to sample the goods.

'I fixed it,' Dean explained.

Both his brother and dad looked sceptical. He sighed:

'Do you have any idea how much it costs to get one of these cakes made up special?'

Sam shook his head. John shrugged.

'Too much. Buuut,' he drawled, grinning at his ingenuity, 'buying a "Happy Birthday Samantha" cake that no one has come to collect is a lot more reasonable.' He looked around, he'd expected disapproval, but the silence surprised him so he muttered: 'Like I said I … fixed it.'

When he looked back at his brother, he was beaming. An expression that didn't fit naturally on his kid brother's features anymore.

'You okay there, Sammy? You look like you're going to explode.'

'I've never had a birthday cake before,' he grinned.

'Riiight,' Dean drawled. 'Well, I don't really have any candles but….'

'I might have something we can use in the trunk,' John cut in.

He didn't, not really. And what he returned with was a flare and a muttered:

'We probably shouldn't stick it in the cake.'

Sam didn't seem to care, nothing could get the kid down today. So they took the flare, the cake and the ball and mitt to the nearest park. John lit the flare, and just when he suspected it would burn out, he told Sammy to make a wish and blow it out; the timing was close to perfect. They ate the cake, which was as sweet and delicious as anything they'd ever eaten.

**-SPN-**

'You want to play, dad?' Dean asked, offering him the ball, when he came to grab a drink of water.

'You boys carry on,' John said with a tired smile. He wasn't sure he even knew how to "play" anymore. He'd been so intense and so focused for so long that he found it hard to wind down, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy watching his boys just be boys. This must have been what Bobby had been arguing with him about when he got drunk and stubborn. Letting them be kids, letting them have these moments to enjoy their childhood. Sipping a beer in this park was the closest to relaxed he'd felt in nearly a decade.

John threw the ball back a couple of times; when Dean had tried to make a point about being better with his left hand than Sam was with his right, and once when Sam had thrown the ball a little enthusiastically in an attempt to catch Dean on the back of the head when he wasn't looking. John had laughed when Dean had missed a catch, which sent him skipping about moaning about his fingers being bent backwards. He clapped when Sammy took a near-impossible catch with his mitt. He watched his boys play, until the sun set and the still spring evening, turned into a cool night with a bitter breeze.

'Dean, Sammy, time to come in.'

They hadn't even argued. None of them wanted to ruin the day with a stupid row.

John gave his youngest son three minutes to get ready for bed, and charged Dean with overseeing his flossing routine.

He could hear Sam complaining through a floss-filled mouth: 'Washa point?'

And Dean playing what should be John's role better than John ever had: 'You'll thank me when you're older and you don't look like Herbert Coward.'

'Who?'

'Floss!'

John looked proudly at the back of his older son's head, as he stood guard in the bathroom door. Dean had things well and truly under control here, just as he had for the past 6 years. John picked up the keys to the Impala. He only needed to nip out for two minutes, just long enough to put some fuel in the car and, of course, burn the clown card forever.

* * *

**Sorry guys. Great characters + (very) rainy weekends = an abundance of ficlets. (I'm an embarrassingly committed fic writer, when it comes down to it.)**

**Thanks SO much for reading. I hope you enjoyed!**

**Sisi...xx**


End file.
